Fête Galante
by desespoir
Summary: Hermione is the director of the Wizarding Museum of Art. The Ministry is determined to shut it down. Draco offers to help but for what reason and at what cost?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: **_**Ici, enfin, je repose…**_

This could not possibly be happening.

Hermione slammed her perfectly manicured hand down onto the smooth hardwood surface of the table, making several board members jump at the impact. She almost smirked at their reaction. Well, at least she still intimidated a few people.

"What do you mean you're shutting down the museum?" she nearly seethed as her gaze quickly darted between the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and several of the more prominent board members that were staring back at her with a mixture of defiance, amusement, and boredom.

"Due to the state of the current economy, the Ministry has had to make a few budget cuts," Kingsley started, his voice strained. His brown eyes begged at Hermione to not cause a scene.

She restrained herself from jumping across the table and strangling him. "So, stop holding so many galas and balls and let the Wizarding World keep the one art museum and cultural institution of worth that it possesses." She shook her head in disbelief, "You can't possibly be serious. Do you realize how much history our collection has? It's the only method in which the public can access the very foundations of the beginnings of magic."

"Yes, while that may be true, the public is simply not interested," Aldous Greengrass snapped shrilly. "The visitor attendance rate has been at its lowest in years and the museum is over 500,000 galleons in debt simply from this fiscal year. The Ministry can no longer fund this disaster."

Hermione exhaled loudly, clenching her fists tightly around her sides, "What exactly do you plan to do with the collection then? We have over 400,000 objects. You can't mean for them to collect dust in storage."

"Sell it."

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice. She narrowed her eyes at Caius Flint who simply smiled innocently back at her, "Even you have to admit, Ms. Granger, that the only people that seem to be interested in Wizarding art these days are private collectors who would be falling over themselves on a chance to get their hands on a Turner or a Drummond."

"It is precisely for that reason that I believe we have to keep the museum open to the public. For the past seven years, I have worked to acquire some of the rarest and best examples of Wizarding art that have previously been locked in the private collections of the Wizarding aristocracy. Such monumental works should be displayed for all to see not hidden away in a private parlor in Hertfordshire!"

"I admire your passion, Ms. Granger, I truly do," Caius responded calmly, his tone negating his previous words, "However, while you may have the aspiration to share these works with others, it is evident that others are simply not interested. It is in the best interest of the Ministry, the museum, and even yourself to shut down the museum. If you truly wish, I am sure the Ministry itself can be convinced to purchase a few, select pieces that can be displayed in a small gallery within the Ministry building."

Hermione was almost positive that her nails were breaking her skin and that the palms of her hands were bleeding as she merely glared at Caius, barely containing her anger and outrage. He was belittling her education, occupation, purpose, and person without a care. She knew that, without a doubt, if she agreed to his offer the Ministry would not only retain complete control of what would be purchased and displayed, she would essentially become a puppet, subject to their every whim. In addition, she knew that they would only choose pieces that fit the message the Ministry wanted to promote. That meant nothing provocative, contemporary, international, or done by a woman. In addition, the medium would be constricted to either painting or sculpture. It would be completely bland and homogeneous. She almost visibly cringed at the thought.

She would rather have no museum at all than that. The artwork deserved better. She shook her head adamantly, "I won't let this museum become a mere form of propaganda for the ministry," she spat. "You have to give me more time. I can fundraise and I promise at least half the amount owed by the end of the fiscal year."

Kingsley smiled encouragingly and looked around at his fellow board members, hoping that they would agree. They simply stared back at him with blank and stoic faces. "I think that's a fair offer."

"The end of the fiscal year is in a month, Miss Granger," Aldous stated, "Do you really believe that you can raise 250,000 galleons in that time?"

"Why don't you let me worry about the minor details?" Hermione sneered back before she crossed her arms, "Do we have an agreement?"

Kingsley looked around the room as many of the board members shifted uncomfortably in their seats. It was obvious that they didn't want to appear to defer to her in any way possible but it would be incredibly unfair and unnecessary of them to deny this one offer. Most of them knew that it would be nearly impossible for her to raise that type of money in the given amount of time anyway. Those who would actually feel sympathy with her cause would not be able to give much money and certainly not enough to cover half the debt. Those who could actually give that much money were mostly sitting in the room right now and Kingsley knew clear and well that they would not give Hermione a single sickle no matter how much she begged.

"You have one month, Miss Granger," Caius said coldly before he abruptly stood up, adjourning the meeting and walking briskly out the door.

Hermione watched as a few more members trailed out of the meeting room, giving them polite smiles. Kingsley nodded at her and she returned it with a nod of her own before she sat back down in her chair, letting out a huge sigh and running her fingers through her hands. What the fuck was she supposed to do now?

"Granger."

Her eyes snapped open at the voice and almost immediately, her mood soured even more. "Mr. Malfoy," she said coolly, "How can I be of assistance?"

About six years ago, a short time after Hermione was promoted to the position of director, Draco Malfoy replaced his father as member of the Board of Trustees of the museum. Hermione had been shocked and strangely impressed by the news. He was the youngest member to be on the board for over a century. She knew that it was most likely due to the influence of the older Malfoy but at the same time, he was more than qualified for the position. A few months after he joined, the museum received an anonymous donation of over 200 paintings. Hermione remembered being absolutely flabbergasted at the size and quality of the donation. These were works that had never been displayed in a public forum and were thought to be lost to time. Some of the more important objects included the wand of Salazar Slytherin, the only portrait done of Salazar Slytherin—which had previously been rumored to be a myth, sixteen landscapes by JMW Turner—a famous painter both in the muggle and Wizarding worlds, and a porcelain dragon egg—said to be the only one of its kind.

With these works, Hermione was able to organize of the most successful and talked-about exhibitions in the museum's history. Years later, however, with limited funds and constant budget cuts, the museum's attendance rates dropped immensely and Hermione's relationship with the board became more strained. She had tried her best to bring in visitors and made a valiant effort in collecting and acquiring impressive works all on her own accord. However, it wasn't enough.

People were not interested in spending money on viewing art when they could save up and buy a ticket to a Quidditch game or a Ministry gala where they could rub shoulders with the rich and famous of the Wizarding world. Art was simply not a priority and thus, Hermione Granger was left with her current situation and no saving grace.

If she donated all her life savings, it would barely make a small dent in the debt. She knew she could ask Harry or Ron to help and chip in but their Auror salaries did not pay much and Hermione didn't have the heart to ask Harry to dip so deeply into his inheritance especially not when he and Ginny were expecting another child in addition to the two they already had.

She let out a sigh and looked up at Draco wearily.

"I have a proposal for you."

She quirked an eyebrow, gesturing for him to sit down across from her which he promptly did before she spoke, "Please enlighten me."

"I will give the museum 4 million galleons to start. After paying off the debt that should be more than enough to cover the operating costs and exhibitions for the upcoming year. In addition, I will give the museum 2 million galleons every year for five years which should be a firm foundation to help the museum get back on its feet."

Hermione stared at him in shock, consciously reminding herself not to drop her mouth open as she blinked a few times, unable to formulate a response. She cleared her throat, her eyes narrowing, "And what do you expect in return?"

"I want to direct one special exhibition a year that is completely under my control, no approval necessary from you or the board. I also expect to be fully involved in the running of the museum. You will, of course, keep your position as director but effective immediately, I will be your superior. All decisions regarding the museum must first be approved by me."

"Anything else, my liege?" Hermione asked sarcastically, her temper getting the better of her.

"A kiss," Draco replied simply, leaning close into her.

She could feel the heat emanating from his body and she struggled to calm her heart rate and breathing. She could smell him: a mix of mint, musk, and fresh laundry. He was smirking at her. God, could she be more obvious and creepy? He was making her the most absurd offer of her life and while she should be slapping him upside the head in offense, she was sniffing him like a dog.

What was wrong with her?

"A kiss?" she repeated dumbly, "What?" She mentally berated herself. Of course, it was this demand that she chose to focus upon instead of his previous declarations that he essentially wanted her to hand over the reins of the museum and her job to him on a silver platter with a smile on her face.

"Granger, you can't possibly be so prudish that I have to explain to you the details of what it would involve," He looked at her impatiently before he stood up, handing her a card. "It's a portkey to the Manor. When you have made your decision, whisper my name and it will activate. The offer only lasts a week."

Without another word, he exited the room, leaving her to stare at the empty space where he was sitting only moments before.

What just happened?

-*-

**Author's Note**: The title of this chapter translates to: _Here, at last, I rest…_ It is what is written on the tombstone of Élisabeth Vigée-Le Brun, the most famous woman Rococo painter of her time. Also, I know that 500,000 galleons doesn't seem like much but if you convert it to muggle currency, it is over 5 millions dollars and 2.5 million pounds. 400,000 objects in a museum's collection is pretty sizeable though not enormous. For reference, the Art Institute of Chicago owns 260,000, the Louvre owns 380,000, the Met owns 2 million, and the British Museum owns 7 million.

-*-


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: **_**Odalisque**_

"Come again?"

Hermione let out a sigh as a light pink blush colored her cheeks. "He offered the museum an enormous amount of money that would help us get out of debt and be well-established for years to come in return for a significant amount of control of the museum's further endeavors and-"

"I don't care about all of that," Ginny interrupted, "Repeat the part about the kiss again."

Hermione put her hands on her hips, a small huff escaping her mouth as she pursed her lips, "There really isn't more to that part except the demand of a kiss in return for money. I'm not some common whore, you know," she said angrily, "I can't believe he had the audacity to even suggest that!"

"Did you slap him?"

The blush deepened against Hermione's skin. What was she supposed to say? That instead of defending her honor she simply sat there like an idiot and sniffed Draco Malfoy? She looked down and tried her best not to fidget, "I didn't have a chance to say anything before he left."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "So, are you going to accept?"

"A-Absolutely not!" Hermione sputtered before she bit her lip, "Although it is quite a tempting offer."

Ginny smirked and gave her a knowing look.

"Not the part about the kiss! I'm talking about the money," she sighed wistfully, "If the museum had an endowment that large, we could actually hold larger special exhibitions, buy more valuable and rare pieces, and perhaps even borrow some works from muggle institutions. I've been dying to do an exhibition focusing on the work of Turner and comparing his muggle and magical works."

Ginny nodded encouragingly, "I'm sure that would be a big hit. Even the Ministry would appreciate that. They're always trying to toot their own horn and push forth the 'British is better' agenda." She rolled her eyes, "Xenophobic bastards."

"I can't accept though," she almost sounded sad yet her tone was resolute, "It would be immoral, improper, and probably highly illegal."

"Not necessarily," Ginny said carefully, "There's no law against donations, in fact, it's encouraged. I'm sure it wouldn't sit well with the board that he's willing to bail the museum out in this fashion but they can shove it." She sipped her tea quietly watching Hermione with curious eyes.

"What about the being my superior thing and holding his own exhibition without approval? I'm positive the board would never approve that."

"Well, that's not really your responsibility, is it? You were elected into your position and it's really not in your power to decide who becomes your superior—it's the board's. I think it's out of your hands." Ginny seemed quite pleased with herself as she said triumphantly, "Tell him that you agree to his terms but that he's responsible for fulfilling the other terms he specifies in his contract. If he wants to hold his own exhibitions without the necessity of the board's approval and become your superior, then he needs to get it himself. It's not like you can just wave your wand and make it all happen. It's not in your power."

"Ginny, that's brilliant," Hermione was nearly bouncing with glee, "The board will never agree to that. I'll ask him to sign an agreement that dictates that he will donate the money and that as director, I agree to his stipulations but the approval of the board is something he will have to get himself. He'll have to sign it. His stupid Malfoy pride wouldn't dare let him do otherwise. The museum will get the money and Malfoy will be out of my hair for a good long while. The board will not appreciate being threatened in this matter. He'll lose all the influence that he had." She laughed lightly, "I almost feel bad for him. Almost."

Ginny snorted, "You shouldn't. That pompous arse. He just wanted to put you in an awkward position and test you. If he really wanted to do good for the museum, he would've just donated the money without any demands whatsoever. He is and forever will be a selfish bastard that is simply too good-looking. It's unfair."

Even Hermione couldn't deny the truth in her words. She exhaled and sat back in the fluffy chair, a pleasant smile gracing her lips.

"So what do you plan to about the kiss thing?"

"I guess I'll just have to suck it up and do it. I mean, considering the circumstances, 14 million galleons to save a museum that I've dedicated my entire life and career to for a simple kiss that will last a mere second should be tolerable."

"Tolerable?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, Hermione, you aren't sexless and blind. The man is bloody gorgeous and he's willing to donate a ridiculous amount of money that most wizards don't even dare of dreaming they would ever possess and all for a kiss from you. I would give him a kiss and then some," she waggled her eyebrows before laughing at Hermione's shocked face.

"Shouldn't I be offended that he's essentially treating me as something to be purchased and then thrown away?"

"Each to their own, I say, but if I were you, I would feel flattered."

Hermione rolled her eyes, deciding it would be best to let the subject drop. Her mind couldn't help but wander to the terms of his offer. It seemed that was all that she had been doing this week – thinking about Malfoy and his blasted offer. Today was the last day. She could no longer put it off anymore. She would have to go to him tonight and give him her final decision. Though she had sounded fairly confident and reassured when talking with Ginny, her mind was in absolute turmoil. She was being ridiculous and stupid. She knew that Ginny was right. The board would never agree to Malfoy's terms and because she would make him sign the contract beforehand, his donation did not depend upon if the board approves his ridiculous demand to effectively gain full control and access to the museum, it was essentially 14 million galleons for one insignificant kiss.

It really shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did but she couldn't help it. She had strong morals and there were certain things that she just didn't do and that included kissing Draco Malfoy! He never did specify what type of kiss he wanted. It could just be a peck on the cheek for all she knew.

That could be manageable. Hermione let out a sigh. Who was she kidding? It was Malfoy and that tricky, slippery little bastard would milk it for all it was worth and probably take advantage of her. He wasn't the king of Slytherin for nothing.

Hermione couldn't deny Ginny's words, however. A small part of her—a part that she kept hidden away in the back recesses of her mind and absolutely refused to ever let surface—had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Ginny was right. She wasn't blind nor was she sexless and yes, perhaps a few times during her years at Hogwarts, she might've possibly had a fantasy or two about Malfoy. It wasn't as if she ever expected it to come to anything. It never hurt to look and it certainly wasn't her fault that he was just so damned good to look at.

It was his fault really. Bloody handsome bastard.

She was in control of herself though. She might've been attracted to him at some point in her life but her work and the museum came first. She refused to let him get the best of her. He had quite the reputation of being a womanizer during his Hogwarts years, breaking hearts left and right. Hermione had many a memory where she was patrolling and would catch him with his hands up a random girl's skirt. It was a different girl each time and the shock and traumatic effect never faded. He would always smirk at her, sometimes even going so far as winking but she would merely threaten him, knowing it would come to nothing, before she stomped off in the opposite direction. She never did wonder why it was always her that caught Malfoy in these compromising positions and why he chose to carelessly flirt with her though he had another willing girl in his arms. After he graduated, Draco Malfoy had all but faded off into the background. Rarely, if ever, did he make the headlines of the Daily Prophet and usually, it was for donating some ridiculous sum of money to his new favorite philanthropic pursuit or attending yet another extravagant and highly unnecessary Ministry gala. Hermione frowned, trying her best to remember if she had ever read anything regarding his romantic pursuits.

It seemed he was content on living a more low-key lifestyle as he grew older. Hermione was sure that he had his share of consorts post-Hogwarts. He probably just paid off the folks at the Daily Prophet to keep their mouths shut. It wouldn't surprise her.

Draco Malfoy was and would always be a heartless jerk that simply toyed with emotions. That was exactly what she was to him, Hermione decided. A plaything to amuse him for a few weeks before he tired of her and then threw her to the side.

She would refuse to let him get the best of her. After all, it wasn't just her own pride and reputation on the line – it was her entire career and life. She would not let him destroy the museum.

-*-

Hermione felt dirty. She held the business card between her forefinger and thumb, flipping it over between her fingers, her brown eyes scrutinizing it before she let out a heavy sigh. Why did she have to whisper his name in order to activate it?

Such an action was too intimate and sexual for her liking. She knew she was just being silly but she would be more comfortable with a spell. She expelled some air through her lips before she said loudly and clearly, "Malfoy."

Nothing.

Hermione squinted at the card. Was it broken or something?

_Whisper my name. _That was what he had said. Malfoy had officially become the most irritating git on the face of the planet. Hermione repeated his name but this time in a soft whisper.

Nothing. Again.

Hermione almost threw the card down in frustration but instead she made a few disgruntled noises. What was she missing now? She was saying his name. It suddenly struck her. Perhaps, the portkey would only activate with his full name. Hermione glared at the indiscriminate card, feeling as if it was taunting her. He would do this. She and Malfoy were not on first-name terms. That meant they were familiar or that they were friends. They were neither and Hermione had intended to keep it that way.

It felt dirty, bizarre, and strange to whisper his full name into a card. It was just wrong. It was too intimate.

She let out another sigh and shook out her arms, readying herself, "Draco-"

Before she could even finish his name, the portkey activated and she felt the familiar tugging in her stomach. Moments later, she was in what she assumed to be Draco's study in Malfoy manor.

"I've been expecting you."

Hermione whipped around, a few strands of her hair hung messily around her, covering a part of her face.

"You certainly took your time to make the decision."

"I wanted to make an informed decision," Hermione retorted as she watched him carefully. He was dressed in a dark green button-down shirt, the top few buttons unbuttoned so she could see the pale skin of his chest underneath, and black silk pajama pants. Was it really that late? Her eyes glanced out the window and she could see the moon high in the sky.

"And what decision have you come to?"

"Yes."

If he was shocked by her choice, he certainly hid it well. He simply nodded and took a sip of the amber drink that he held in his hands.

"With certain conditions, however," Hermione continued. "As director, I agree to allowing you full control of running one special exhibition a year without any interference on my part as well as you becoming my superior. However, the final decision does not rest in my hands. It is something that the Board of Trustees must agree upon and you know as well as I do that I cannot force them to agree to anything they don't want to. As such, I will fulfill my end of the agreement. Please sign this contract," she handed a piece of parchment to him, "It says that you agree to donate the previously mentioned sum of 14 million galleons total regardless of the final decision of the board."

His grey eyes scanned quickly across the parchment before the tossed it onto his desk lazily, "And what of the kiss?"

Hermione stiffened, "It was a part of our original agreement so I will acquiesce."

Draco raised an eyebrow, taking a look at the parchment once again. Hermione stood in front of his desk awkwardly as he read in silence. After what seemed like forever, he finally spoke once again, "I will agree to your terms, Granger. I'll even agree to donate the money even if the board denies my demands."

Hermione's heart soared and she couldn't contain the smile that burst onto her face.

"But, I have one additional stipulation to add."

Her heart dropped and immediately, a frown replaced the smile, "What exactly?"

"I want you to pose for me."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to paint you, Granger."

Hermione's brow furrowed, "As in a portrait?"

"Of sorts," Draco smirked before he clasped his hands together. "I want to paint you as an odalisque."

Hermione blinked a few times, her mouth dropped open as she tried her best to wrap her mind around his request, "You want to paint me as an odalisque?"

"You seem to enjoy repeating my words."

"Are you mad? I will not pose nude for you, Malfoy!" she seethed, the blood returning to her brain once again at his words. "You have some nerve to-"

"It's purely for artistic purposes, Granger. I have no wish to seduce you, if that is what you are implying."

"I don't know what I'm implying, Malfoy. First, you offer 14 million galleons for a kiss and now you're asking me to pose nude for you."

"I offered 14 million galleons to save a museum that I have enjoyed and frequented ever since I was a child. The kiss is simply an added bonus. I am asking you to pose as an odalisque, an artistic subject that many influential painters have embraced before. Ingres, for example."

"Ingres was an absolute cur. He abandoned his fiancée without a word while he fled to Rome, scared and unable to handle the criticisms he received for his artwork," Hermione said in annoyance, her eyes stormy and hard.

"I wasn't commenting on his character, Granger, merely his artistic talent which no one, not even you, can deny."

"I will not pose nude for you, Malfoy."

"Very well," Draco said simply, completely calm and reserved, taking another sip of his drink, "You have less than three weeks to come up with 250,000 galleons. I wish you the best of luck."

Hermione pursed her lips together, stomping her foot on the ground in frustration, "Must you torment me, Malfoy? Why do you want me to pose nude for you? There are plenty of women out there who are more beautiful and more than willing to do the same. Can't you just be happy with the kiss?" she asked desperately. "If you truly cared about the museum as much as you say you do then you would never let the board and the Ministry shut it down. You know as well as I do the possible repercussions of such a drastic choice."

"I return the same sentiments to you, Granger," Draco retorted, "If you truly cared about the museum as much as you say you do then you would gladly accept any offer presented especially one as rare as this. I am offering you 14 million galleons, no small sum," he said coldly, "I am offering you a guarantee that the museum will have no want for money for the next decade all for a kiss and for you to be my model for a short amount of time. I am not asking for anything preposterous. No sexual favors, no betrothal. I am simply asking for two favors."

Damn him. She couldn't help but feel guilty at his words. It was true. In return for at least a decade of financial security for the museum, she had to perform a few simple favors. It was wrong though. He was bribing her. He knew that she could never turn down such an offer without always regretting her decision. She couldn't live out the rest of her life knowing that she could've saved the museum in return for her pride. An odalisque was beautiful, sensual, attractive, and an object of desire. It was just that, however. An odalisque was an object.

Hermione Granger was not an object. She was not a model. Her beauty was not ethereal enough to be forever imprinted onto a canvas, remembered for the rest of eternity.

Why did he want to paint her?

She didn't have the answers and he simply stared back at her, his grey eyes unreadable.

She let out a sigh of frustration, looking down at the carpeted floor, her fists tightly clenched at her sides, "Fine, I'll do it."

If she looked up, she would've seen the relief, passion, desire, and happiness reflected in his eyes.

-*-

**Author's Note**: Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres was a French Neoclassical painter. His works were extremely expressive and powerful. He was absolutely brilliant. The criticisms that made him flee Paris centered mostly on the portrait of Napoleon that he did in 1806 (it now hangs in the Musée de l'Armée in Paris). Many critics, painters, and Parisians found it to be archaic and filled with stylistic discordances. One critic claimed it looked like Napoleon was drowning in his clothing, suggesting that he was unfit for the throne entirely. Ingres was in Rome when he received news of these criticisms. Shamed and outraged, he remained in Rome, never returning to Paris (effectively breaking off his engagement with Marie-Anne-Julie Forestier) until much later in his life.

Also, sorry if my previous note confused anyone. The Louvre is absolutely gigantic. My legs almost fell off and died after I visited. I was merely referencing the collection size, not the physical gallery space.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: **_**Clair de Lune**_

He was playing with her mind. She knew it.

It had been nearly a week since Hermione had last heard from him. When she had agreed, she had almost expected him to ask her to remove her clothes and begin posing for him right then and there. Instead, he offered her a drink which she was all too quick to deny, returned the contract she had brought—signed, and then proceeded to make small talk about the museum and the collection before Hermione finally excused herself for the night, her mind and heart completely shaken and confused.

He was almost being nice. It was easily one of the strangest experiences of her life.

Hermione sat in her office, books piled up high on her desk as she reviewed various catalogs and object files, preparing for the next exhibition. The day after her visit to Malfoy Manor, she scheduled an urgent and immediate Trustees meeting. While they were displeased about being called together so last minute and without warning, they were even further disappointed when they discovered that Hermione had managed to get the funding she needed to keep the museum running and she had done it in only a week. Caius had shaken her hand and congratulated her in his typical steely fashion but even Hermione could tell that he was impressed with her initiative and efficiency.

If only they knew.

She had handed Caius and Aldous the contract, smiling inwardly when she saw their cool facades crack when they realized just who was sponsoring the museum from now on. Malfoy would certainly have a pleasant crowd to try to convince whenever he decided to meet with them.

Hermione drummed her hands against the hardwood of her desk, sighing softly as she admired the painting in one of her open books. The reproduction could not capture the quiet and painful beauty of the real-life work. Turner's _Slave Ship_ had always been one of her favorite works by the painter even if it wasn't magical. She had first seen it when she was only ten on her first trip to the United States. Her parents had always enjoyed museum-going while a young Hermione had found the atmosphere of an art museum to be stuffy and quite honestly, horribly boring. She didn't understand art. She only saw marginally interesting subjects painted in blobs of color on a canvas hung in front of her. She didn't know what she was supposed to be looking at and after a while, everything just blurred together and looked exactly the same. Why would her parents want to travel so far just to waste their hours away at such a meaningless task? Give her a good book and she would be content.

She had lost her parents somewhere in the colonial galleries and had wandered off into a more secluded corner of the museum. Hermione remembered plopping herself onto one of the gallery benches, opening the book she carried in her little backpack. She had just finished a chapter when she placed the book in her lap, stretching her arms out and for the first time since she entered the gallery, looked up.

That was when she saw it.

She fell in love with it the instant she laid her eyes on it. It was so rough, passionate, heart-breaking, sad, emotional, and all-together captivating. She remembered standing up, the forgotten book falling onto the bench as she slowly walked towards the painting as if any noise would scare it away. When she was merely inches away from the work, she simply looked up and stared at it, her eyes drinking in every single detail: the warm color palette, the horrendously deformed figures of the slaves in the water, the bold brushstrokes and heavy texture of the paint. It was as if she could imagine Turner himself painting the piece in front of her, so incredibly caught up in emotion over such a horrific event that even he could not control what was painted on the canvas.

Most people would deem it impossible to pinpoint the very moment in which they fell in love with a lifelong obsession but for Hermione Granger, it was that moment, that painting, and that feeling which she still got every time she discovered a new favorite piece that started it all.

During her Hogwarts years, she had secretly studied the history of magical and non-magical art in her spare time between classes. Unfortunately, the history of art was not a subject that the Founders had deemed necessary for students and thus, she never received any formal training until university. She had spent a good amount of time studying each painting that Hogwarts owned, amazed at the intricacies and character that each painting possessed.

The most prevalent genre in magical painting was, without a doubt, portraiture. Rarely, if ever, did she find a landscape and even rarer than that did she find anything remotely modern. She encountered a handful of genre paintings and quite a number of still-lifes—which really, weren't still at all—and occasionally, a history painting or two. It seemed magical painting was still stuck several decades behind non-magical painting. For this reason, Hermione convinced her university to allow her to do a joint-degree at a muggle institution so she could have a more comprehensive training and background.

Muggle painting was beautiful. Hermione supposed that she was a bit biased but she was a firm believer that the innate fact that muggle canvases could not move put them to a large disadvantage. Without the use of magic, an artist must create a work of art purely with paint, canvas, panel, or other medium and execute it properly so that the audience can connect to the art but at the same time, they must remain true to their purpose and beliefs. Without the use of magic, Turner managed to mesmerize a ten-year-old child into loving art, weaving his story with the careful use of reds, oranges, yellows, and whites while never forgetting the traumatic incident and history behind what it depicted. Turner created something so heartbreakingly beautiful and all he used was a paintbrush. Not a wand.

Hermione continued to flip through the book, making a list of all the works that she wanted to review further for possible loan for the newest exhibition. Her assistant and the rest of the department had left hours ago. She supposed she should retire for the night as well but her flat was cold and dark. In the warm, comfortable space of her office, surrounded by her art books, she was content.

So, she sipped her tea and flipped the page.

-*-

She was even more unbelievably beautiful bathed in moonlight.

Draco stepped into her office, closing her door quietly as he watched her. He knew she would be working late. She was such a predictable creature of habit. Most nights, she would doze off slightly and retire for home, more often than not, bringing a few of her art books with her, most likely falling asleep to the images. Other nights, she would fall asleep at her desk and it was these nights that he indulged himself by watching her.

How she thought that position was the least bit comfortable was beyond his comprehension.

He himself was a creature of habit as well. He didn't mean to start watching her like he did. He realized that it was incredibly disturbing behavior but he just couldn't bring himself to care. The first night was about a month and a half ago. He had just found out from hushed whispers that the board was planning to shut the museum down. He had come to her office with the intention of warning her and offering her the money but when he knocked on her office door and there was no answer, he let himself in, thinking he would leave her a note. He was met with one of the most breathtaking sights he had ever seen, off or on canvas.

Her brown hair fell across part of her face in soft curls. The moonlight gave her the appearance of an ethereal goddess, a slight flush of pink on her cheeks and lips only served to make her more appealing. Her breathing was even and she looked peaceful, completely unbothered by the outside world and the stresses of her job, past, heritage, and the many expectations that were demanded of her. In that moment, she was simply Hermione.

Never before had he desired anyone more than her. He stepped towards her resting body, his hand reaching out, desperately wanting to caress the milky skin of her cheek, wanting, needing to know if she was as soft as she looked but he held himself back. That night, he watched her for a few more fleeting moments before he left the room.

He had thought he had gone mad.

He had tried to ignore her and forget about how the moonlight seemed to completely illuminate her entire being. He did not find Hermione Granger attractive. He couldn't. He was not allowed to.

During the war, he had gone against everything that he had been taught, choosing to follow the side of Light, never believing that a deranged half-blood could ever win such a pitiful battle. When Voldemort fell and Lucius was placed under arrest, deported to a small cottage in France, he thought that perhaps, for once, he could live for himself without the restrictions and expectations of outside forces. He had been so naïve and so wrong.

With Lucius gone, he was now expected to fill his father's shoes and a man of his caliber and station was supposed to maintain order. Though the war was over, the deeply seated hatred of mudbloods and triumphed ideals of pureblood supremacy was still ingrained into the social circles in which he ran. So, he retreated from society, deciding it was better to ignore it and not deal with it at all rather than give himself the headache.

He knew he chose the coward's way out.

A real man would've stood up for what he believed in: that the issue of blood was merely fabricated to give the pureblood aristocracy a sense of superiority when in reality, it couldn't be further from the truth. After the war, however, he didn't have the strength or the will to fight anymore.

So, he fled. And, it became all too easy to forget the rest of the world and for the rest of the world to forget about the once notorious Draco Malfoy.

He had never regretted his decision. He actually found himself appreciating a quiet life and it wasn't until he saw Hermione Granger that night that he decided he would throw it all away and take it all back if he could just touch her. Just once.

Just once, he wanted to feel her skin upon his, for her to kiss him with the same passion as he held for her. For her to desire him as much as he desired her.

He would have her.

-*-

**Author's Note: **The title of this chapter translates to _Moonlight_. I know I use quite a bit of terminology in this chapter so if anyone has any questions about what something is, please just let me know. Also, if you want to learn more about the history of _Slave Ship_, send me an email at: 

Turner's _Slave Ship_ can be seen here: .


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: **_**La Bague d'Or**_

_Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,  
Luxe, calme et volupté._

-- _« L'Invitation au voyage »_ by Charles Baudelaire

Hermione woke up to the distinct smell of incense and musk, her mind still addled with sleep as her brown eyes blinked away the haziness. The room was most definitely not the office that she last remembered before closing her eyes. It was warmly lit, decorated with rich reds, browns, and oranges. She was sitting on a lush beige chaise, fully-clothed, with a lavish fur rug thrown over her.

"I took the liberty of bringing you to my studio."

Draco was sitting against a high-back brown leather chair, dressed in a loose white button-down shirt and black slacks. He took a languorous sip of his red wine before turning his gaze towards hers.

"This is a studio," her tone was incredulous, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. She had never seen a studio quite so seductive and ornate.

"I never understood why an artist's studio nowadays must be pristinely white and barren of any personal touches. It is too cold and spiritless for my tastes. No," Draco looked up at the ceiling, smirking when he heard Hermione's gasp, "I need my studio to be my inspiration. It must create the right atmosphere and be the perfect setting for my paintings."

"Is that a David on your ceiling?" Hermione knew that she should probably shut her mouth and stop gaping but she couldn't help but be taken aback at the absolute beauty that the man possessed. He stretched and flexed his back and legs, seemingly unaware of his raw sexuality. She had seen the painting many times in person but only as a muggle painting. She had always imagined what it would look like if it were ever charmed to move, after all, the actual work itself always had so much movement and energy in it that she always felt slightly perverted when she stared at it. Yet, Hermione could not tear her eyes away from the devastatingly gorgeous work above her.

"You'd be surprised at the number of famous muggle painters that were in fact prominent wizards as well." He took another sip of his wine and said lazily, "Did you never wonder, Granger, how it was possible for a man to appear to be moving and stretching so temptingly yet be painted onto a flat canvas? Yes, David was talented but he always had a certain way of making things appear to be what he wanted them to be." He stood up from his chair and set his wine glass down, "And such a prolific painter as well."

"You're saying he painted his muggle paintings using magic?"

"Of course," Draco replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, "Many painters did, in fact. I feel as if I'd be breaking your little heart if I were to reveal more secrets about wizarding painting that you failed to read about in your books."

"They never mentioned anything about the practice," Hermione huffed, shoving the fur throw off of her body. She sat up straighter, her eyes curious once again, "How did you manage to procure a David? I didn't even know he was a wizard much less made wizarding versions of his paintings."

"He didn't," he said smoothly, "It was done as a personal favor."

"What?" Hermione's eyes went wide, "You knew David?" She nearly snorted before shaking her head, "Do you take me for a fool, Malfoy? David died in the 1820s."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Fortunately for me, the Malfoy line extends centuries back, to the beginning of magic itself. We were certainly around during the French Revolution and my great-great," he waved his hand in dismissal, "I forget the exact number of greats but one of my predecessors was a good friend of his and commissioned him to do this piece. It was only afterwards that David decided to paint its muggle counterpart."

Hermione flushed with embarrassment before she laughed lightly, "I am sure he would be turning in his grave if he knew you decided to display it as a ceiling painting."

"I feel that it can be better admired that way."

"It certainly is unconventional but it's provocative."

"Was that a compliment, Granger?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy."

Hermione stood up and craned her head, staring intently at the painting, never noticing that Draco was staring just as intently at her own figure, "So, why did your great-great-whatever grandfather decide to commission a painting of first, a man, and second, a man that was the famous for being the lover of Achilles?"

Draco's smirk deepened at her words, "Patroclus was a great warrior and a very brave man. I believe that was the reason behind the commission."

"He was also a homosexual. I'm quite shocked at your predecessor's oversight. After all, I highly doubt homosexuality is something the Malfoy men would want to extol."

"It is simply myth, Granger. Which part of the myth a person chooses to recognize and accept as truth is of their own accord and prerogative."

"You can't deny it though," Hermione teased, "Plato considered the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus to be the apotheosis of romantic love."

"Are you implying that my forefather was a homosexual?"

"It's a possibility," her tone was light, her eyes bright with laughter.

Without another word, Draco took a few long strides towards her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. Hermione breathed in sharply, suddenly all too aware at how close he was, her mind fluttering with the distinct scent of him. He leaned in closer towards her, nibbling on her ear, his voice rich and deep, "It seems to me, dear Ms. Granger, that you are questioning the masculinity of the Malfoy line, both past and present. I would be more than happy to prove to you how wrong you are."

Hermione's eyes glazed over and she could barely process the meaning behind his words before she quickly pushed herself out of his grasp, needing to separate her body from his. She took in a few heaving breaths and shook her head nervously, "That won't be necessary."

Draco crossed his arms, a self-satisfied smile on his face before he turned around and walked towards a mahogany dresser, "Shall we get started then?"

She was slightly annoyed at how quickly he seemed to have recovered from his antic while she was still panting like an idiot, trying her best to calm her heartbeat. Hermione cursed his name mentally before she bit back, "Get started with what?"

"Our agreement, of course. You do remember that you promised to pose for me."

"Right now?" Her eyes went wide as she stared at him incredulously, "Do you have any idea what hour it is?"

"Since when has time mattered in the pursuit of art?" He cocked his head to the side, "Unless, of course, you wish to void our agreement."

"No," she replied hurriedly, shaking her head, "I just-" she looked down, at a loss for words.

"You hardly need to be nervous. I will be painting you from the back."

Hermione looked up, surprised yet secretly thankful. "But, it's late. I don't want to fall asleep."

"You'll just have to find a way to stay awake then, won't you? Besides, tomorrow is the weekend and you'll have plenty of time to rest then." He opened a few drawers, searching for something before he was finally triumphant. He walked towards her and handed her a piece of jewelry.

In her outstretched palm, Hermione held an ornately designed gold ring. It resembled a snake and when she put it on her finger, it appeared to be coiling itself around her.

"Get undressed."

In any other context, she would've been offended by his words but wordlessly, Hermione ducked behind the silk screen and removed her clothing, piece by piece, taking care to fold it before placing it on the chair. When she was down to her knickers, she peeled them off slowly, taking notice that the room was surprisingly warm. She pulled her hair up into a messy bun before she took in a steadying breath and stepped out from behind the screen.

Draco stood beside a large canvas, busying himself with readying the paint, not even noticing her presence.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, her arms wrapped around her body, trying her best to cover what she could. His eyes were unreadable as they travelled across her body, seeming to drink her very essence in. She shifted her weight and cleared her throat again, her voice was thick from nerves, "How do you want me?"

"Lie down on the chaise and stretch out your legs."

Hermione followed his directions numbly, trying her best not to be affected by his seductive tone.

"Let down your hair."

Hermione reached up and pulled out the chopstick, her brown hair falling over her back in a tumble of waves. She could've sworn she heard a sharp intake of breath but thought nothing of it.

"Place your hand on your hip, turning the ring towards me. Very good," his voice seemed to be shaky. "Keep your head upturned."

She laid there silently, her mind whizzing with thoughts but she tried her very best to remain still, trying her best to calm her mind and her heart. It was too quiet. She could hear herself think all too clearly. She needed a distraction.

Her ears perked up when she heard the soft piano music flow throughout the room and Hermione smiled slightly, knowing that he couldn't see it anyway. She whispered a quiet "thank you".

-*-

**Author's Note**: The title of this chapter translates to _The Gold Ring_. The passage from the beginning comes from _« L'Invitation au voyage »_ by Baudelaire. I really wanted to just put the entire poem up as a prelude to this chapter since it is so incredibly fitting. Also, I realize that there are art fans and non-art fans out there that are both reading this. I'm trying to keep a bit of a balance with the art and not overload it and start to sound like a textbook. I will try and do more detailed descriptions and history in the author's notes so you have the choice on whether you want to read it or not. Believe me, if I had my way, I would just go on for hours but I'm pretty sure I'd put you all to sleep. If at any time, you want more art or less art, just holler!

-*-


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: **_**Fête Galante**_

« Ne me pers plus en vue costumière

Car seulement pour t'adorer je vis. »

-- « _Delie_ » by Maurice Scève

Draco Malfoy had seen her naked.

Hermione took in a few calming breaths as she wrapped her hands around her morning coffee, curling the tips of her fingers around the warm mug. She knew she should be focusing upon the day ahead and the various tasks involved yet she couldn't pull herself away from her thoughts and the events of the weekend.

She had stripped naked and posed for Draco Malfoy.

The worst part of it all was that he didn't run away screaming or laugh in her face as she had half feared. He had been nice.

Nice.

Draco Malfoy was many things but nice was not an adjective she would have previously used to describe him. Yet, he had made no snarky comments nor implied that he had wanted to kiss her and take advantage of her naked state. She had tried to engage him in small conversation, purely out of boredom. After all, lying on a chaise for several hours trying not to move did get quite tedious after the first hour or so. He had replied with short answers, seeming to be completely focused on painting her.

So, she remained quiet and as she had expected, fallen asleep. She woke up the next morning with the fur blanket covering her and Malfoy nowhere to be found.

After a weekend of locking herself in her flat, buried in a pile of books, Hermione had finally re-emerged to face the world, however unwillingly. It was the beginning of a new fiscal year and for her and the museum, a start of a new beginning.

Hermione was in the middle of drafting a proposal for the object loans needed for the Turner exhibition when her assistant, Griselda, a young aspiring artist who had been a few years behind her at Hogwarts, stumbled into her office, her eyes wide.

Hermione took in her flustered state and smiled, "Is everything alright?"

"No," Griselda shook her head fervently, "Everything is not alright."

"What's the matter?"

She took a few hesitant steps into Hermione's office before she let out a heavy sigh, "You've been demoted."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked calmly.

"The Board of Trustees has just made Draco Malfoy the new executive director. You are now the assistant director."

She was at a loss for words for what seemed like ages. Hermione stood up shakily and nodded numbly, "I need a few moments to myself, Griselda."

"Of course, Ms. Granger," Griselda said softly.

He had done it. He had really done it. How in the name of Merlin did he ever manage to convince the board to agree to such a suicidal move? If there was anything Hermione was certain of, it was that the board was number one, a board of pretentious, wealthy, and self-serving pureblooded old men. They only wanted what was best for themselves and their family names and most of them only served on the board because of their supposed reformed ways and goodwill. Hermione knew better. She knew that they did it for the publicity and that they would never give up that sort of power so willingly. By giving Malfoy the position of executive director, her position, they were essentially giving him full control of the museum and the worst part was that he didn't need the approval of the board nor did he care for it.

Why would they ever do this? What could've possibly compelled them to choose Draco Malfoy over Hermione Granger?

She had done an amazing job as director for the past few years. She had accessioned some of the most treasured pieces in their collection and expanded the museum's gallery space itself. She had succeeded in reaching a wider range of audience and most proudly, she had started to display artwork not just by wizards but by all magical races.

All of her successes and accomplishments seemed to dissipate into thin air in one single moment.

She couldn't fool herself into thinking that Malfoy would give her any influence as assistant director. She was being demoted into a secretary for him. He would make all the decisions and he would run the museum to the ground.

She knew the risks when she agreed to his proposal but she had never actually believed that the board would ever in a million years agree to such blasphemy. She thought she was being smart and that she could save the museum, keep her job, and get him out of her hair all in one fell swoop.

She was wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.

Hermione was still reeling from the shock when she heard the knock on her door. It was nearing lunch time and she supposed it was Griselda checking on her. Her head still buried in her hands, she mumbled, "I'm not really in the mood for food right now. I'll take my lunch break in a bit."

"We can't have that now, can we, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione's head shot up and immediately her eyes narrowed, "What do you want?"

"To celebrate my new promotion, of course."

"Get out of my office, Malfoy."

Draco took a few steps closer and sat down on the chair opposite hers and crossed his hands in his lap, "First, I believe it's Mr. Malfoy or Executive Director Malfoy, whichever you prefer and second, you are now in my office. Yours is next door."

Hermione put a hand to her head and bit her lower lip, "I quit, Executive Director Malfoy," she spat out. "I quit all of it. I quit posing for you. I quit being your lackey. I quit this sick game of yours."

She was half-way across the room when she felt his hand around her elbow, tightening ever so gently, stopping her from going further.

"You can't quit. This is your home."

The laugh that escaped her lips was almost hysterical as she stared at him in disbelief, "You took away my job and my dignity. I am leaving with whatever little pride I have left."

"It's always down to your Gryffindor pride, isn't it?" He asked quietly.

"Why did you do this, Malfoy? Didn't you already get what you wanted? You promised me that I would keep my job," she whispered softly.

"I didn't want your job," he answered honestly, "But the board decided that since I was your superior, it would make sense for me to assume the executive position and for you to be assistant director. I still expect you to hold all the same responsibilities as you did in the past but you must simply get my approval before you make any big decisions regarding the museum."

She eyed him warily and loosened her elbow from his grip, "How did you manage to get them to agree?"

"A gentleman never reveals his secrets," he responded cryptically, a small smile on the edge of his lips.

Hermione let out a sigh and shook her head, "I am not your puppet. I am not a brainless and spineless sycophant. I may not be the executive director in name but I do not plan to change my ways and the way I run this museum. I am not your secretary. If you need an assistant, you can hire one."

"Very well," he smiled in acquiescence before he sat back down.

Reluctantly, Hermione followed suit and pouted, "Are you really going to make me move offices?"

"I was simply teasing," he smiled before leaning forward, "I will take the office next door. Besides, I expect the bulk of my work will be done out-of-office."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Really?"

"Do you know the main reason why the museum went into debt and why visitors stopped coming?" Before she could answer, he continued, "You didn't garner enough publicity. You are an amazing curator, Granger. I've seen all of your shows and they're absolutely brilliant but part of being executive director is being a good businessman. It's not all about the art anymore, as much as you might hate for me to say it but it is true. A museum is much like a company and you have been neglecting that aspect. The role that I plan to take on will complement yours. I want you to continue doing what you do best – curating. I will do the rest."

"So, what exactly do you plan to do to garner publicity, as you say?"

"It's really quite simple. I thought we'd start off easy."

"Go on."

"I want to throw a fête galante."

Hermione crossed her arms and snorted, "You must be joking." When she saw his serious expression she stared at him, her mouth gaping, "I am not letting you turn this respectable institution into a pleasure forum for your rich and morally loose friends."

"Come now, Granger. You know as well as I do that a benefit party is one of the best ways to raise awareness as well as acquire donations. It can be a celebration of my new position as well as promote whatever new exhibition that you are planning. Despite the significant amount that I have donated, you know as well as I do that this museum will not run on my funds alone. A fête galante is perfect. It is light, romantic, fun, mysterious, and a bit naughty. We can use only one gallery space and have a small exhibition of Rococo paintings and decorative arts. With a few spells, we can create an indoor park and create the right mood. They'll love it."

"I am not here to appease the wealthy."

"You're not but nevertheless it is something that must be done. The museum needs money and this is the perfect way to get it. We will charge 100 galleons a ticket. Can you imagine how much money we will make from just one night? Wouldn't one night of indulgence be worth the end result?"

Hermione was silent for a few moments before she finally let out a sigh of defeat, "I suppose."

Draco's face immediately lightened and he tried his best to hide a smile, "Do you agree then?"

"I suppose," she repeated grudgingly.

"Very well. Now, do you fancy some lunch?"

-*-

"This is all wrong."

Hermione stared pointedly at Draco as they sat at the round table in his office, object files scattered all across.

"What?"

"You've gone about this in the completely wrong way. I realize that we're doing a highlight on a single artist but we're comparing Turner as a muggle artist and Turner as a magical artist. In essence, it is a show on two different artists. What you have detailed here is a very basic show on the man's life, exhibiting his works from earliest to latest," Draco said matter-of-factly.

"It's a time-old formula. I don't see what's wrong with it."

"That's exactly it, Granger. It's boring. It's overdone. It's mundane." Draco grabbed his wand and waved it in the air. "We should do an exhibition focusing on comparisons and investigate further into this tie that Turner had with both the muggle and magical world. Why didn't he just choose one? Why was he compelled to work so prolifically in both? He was successful enough as a magical artist. What made him choose to start working in the muggle world?"

He had sketched a gallery space in the air and used his wand as a pen. "We can place some of his most well-known pieces from both the muggle and magical world side by side." He grabbed an object file and threw it up into the air, the papers in the folder suspended in mid-air, the reproduction of the painting front and center. "Here, we have one of Turner's most famous paintings, _Rain, Steam, and Speed_. We can juxtapose that with one of his greatest magical paintings of the Hogwarts Express."

Hermione furrowed her brow, "Turner never painted the Hogwarts Express."

Draco smirked, "Yes, he did. It hangs in my study."

Her eyes widened despite her best efforts.

"I believe it's due time that we made a visit to the Malfoy collection. You do know that we have one of the most, if not the most, extensive and finest private collections of wizarding art in the world."

Hermione shook her head and laughed lightly, "Considering how you have a David hanging on your ceiling, I should hardly be surprised."

"Tomorrow then?"

She nodded silently before looking back down at the file she had in her hands. For the first time in her life, she was silently grateful for his presence, influence, wealth, and background.

-*-

**Author's Note: **The passage from the beginning is an excerpt from an absolutely beautiful poem by Scève. As requested, a longer chapter – sorry about the shortness of the previous ones. I try my best to update my stories every few days but work and real life keep me busy which is depressing and unfortunate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Avec Folie**

"So, Hermione, what's it like to work with this year's _Witch Weekly's_ most eligible bachelor?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow before taking a sip of her drink, "Not nearly as scandalous or fascinating as the headlines of the _Daily Prophet_ makes it out to be, I'm afraid."

Lavender brushed a strand of her honey-brown hair out of her face before she pouted, "You can hardly expect me to believe that. You don't have any juicy gossip at all?"

"Honestly, Lav, do you ever stop working or do you just enjoy prying into other people's business?" Ginny rolled her eyes as Lavender huffed in offense before she sat back against the barstool.

"I was simply curious," she defended before she shrugged, "Besides, you can't blame me for being just a tad inquisitive. This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. He's been nearly non-existent for years and all of a sudden he's executive director and thrust back into the limelight." She tapped the table in emphasis, "There has to be a story."

"I don't see what the big hoo-ha is all about. He's been on the board for longer than I can remember and apparently, they thought it was the appropriate time for a change in leadership." Hermione fiddled with her napkin, "Malfoy is educated, business-savvy, and quite a connoisseur. He also owns what I'm sure is a breath-taking collection. He deserves the position. It's not as if there's anyone out there that has more experience running an internationally-renowned museum or actually possesses formal training in art history."

Lavender's eyes widened as she watched Hermione down the rest of her drink in one go. She glanced at Ginny and refrained from commenting when she saw her shake her head quickly.

Wordlessly, Ginny ordered Hermione another drink before she scooted closer, "Have you talked to the board about their decision? It strikes me as rather unprofessional to give your job to someone else without even a notice by owl."

Hermione snorted, "My assistant had to be the one to announce my demotion. That was a particularly delightful moment." She shook her head, "But no, I haven't talked to them. I really don't think there's any point. I doubt Caius ever wanted to give me the position but there wasn't anyone else as qualified but now that there's Malfoy—" Hermione trailed off and let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose I should take this as a blessing. At least now, I can stop worrying about the finances and get back to the art."

"Exactly!" Ginny agreed, "Besides, Malfoy isn't all bad. At least he's easy on the eyes."

"Bloody gorgeous is more like it," Lavender sighed wistfully.

"Does someone still have a schoolgirl crush on the Slytherin prince?" Ginny raised an eyebrow.

Lavender simply shrugged, "If I weren't dating Dean, I would happily join the legions of Malfoy admirers."

"You're absurd," Hermione said with a grin.

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me you don't think he's absolutely deliciously sinful. If you had the chance, I bet you'd say sod the art and shag him against the wall."

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink as she fumbled for an answer.

"Actually," Ginny said teasingly, "I do believe our lovely Ms. Granger may be the only female in wizarding London that is not susceptible to his charms. After all, he offered 14 million galleons for a kiss from her and she actually had to sit down and think about it. She almost denied him."

"He what?!"

Hermione glared daggers at Ginny before she hissed, "He did not offer 14 million galleons for a kiss, Ginerva Weasley." She took in a calming breath, "He offered 14 million galleons to save the museum from closing from debt and the kiss was just an afterthought," she reasoned.

"And what about painting you nude? Was that an afterthought as well?" Ginny smirked before she leaned away from Hermione's slap. "It sounds to me as if he planned it all."

Lavender simply sat and stared, absolutely flabbergasted as she looked between the two, "Did you agree?"

Hermione straightened her back and clasped her hands together, "I did. It seemed like a small sacrifice to make."

"Stop acting like a bloody martyr," Lavender burst out, staring at her incredulously, "I would pay him 14 million galleons to paint me nude and kiss me."

"Does he get naked as well?" Ginny asked with another giggle.

Hermione's eyes narrowed once again before she muttered, "I hate you both."

"We'll stop taking the mickey out of you," Ginny managed to get out through her giggles, "As soon as you admit that you're not entirely averse to working with Malfoy."

"Alright," she snapped, "I admit it. Draco Malfoy is a bloody handsome bastard. Satisfied?"

"Entirely so. Now, what is this about a date you have with him tomorrow?"

"It is not a date. I am only going to see his private collection for purely scholarly purposes. It's for the exhibition."

"If only I could hide under the pretense of my job for the chance to have a private viewing of Draco Malfoy's art collection with a personal tour. Sounds awfully intimate and sexy to me."

"You two are truly insufferable. Besides, since when have you found art sexy?"

"Since Draco Malfoy became the new executive director," Lavender admitted without shame, completely ignoring Hermione's glare.

"And you, Ms. Granger, are simply delusional if you think that your relationship with Malfoy is purely professional."

"Considering how he is now my superior, our relationship has to be purely professional."

"Hmm," Lavender grinned, "I'd love to work under Malfoy in more ways than one."

"I'll be sure to pass the message along to Dean," Hermione said sweetly.

"Tattle-tale," she stuck her tongue out before giggling.

-*-

Hermione was sifting through her mail when she heard the door to her office click open. "I'm busy, Griselda," she said without looking up.

"I see that, Ms. Granger. But, may I be so bold as to steal a few seconds of your precious time?"

Hermione let out an annoyed sigh, barely audible to herself before she looked up, a fake smile plastered onto her face, "Pardon me, Aldous, to what do I owe this pleasure? I had no idea I would be graced with your presence today."

"I am here on behalf of the board. We are throwing an impromptu dinner party tonight at the Ministry to celebrate Mr. Malfoy's recent promotion."

Hermione clasped her hands together, "An in-person invitation is hardly necessary, Aldous. An owl would have been sufficient."

"Yes," he responded acerbically, "but considering how often our invitations seem never to reach you quite in time, I wanted to personally deliver the message to ensure your attendance."

"Of course," she bowed her head graciously, "I would love to attend."

"Very well," Aldous snapped his fingers and a cream invitation materialized on her desk. "We will be having a small reception before the party. Please do not be late."

Hermione continued to smile tightly, "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Until tonight then, Ms. Granger."

"Good day, Aldous."

It was in this agitated state that Draco found her nearly thirty minutes later. Hermione sat at her desk, her back stiff as she stared at the invitation, her fingers tapping furiously against her desk.

"Are you alright, Granger?"

Hermione simply glared at him before she let out a heavy sigh, "Did you get an invitation?"

"For the party? Of course, I got it yesterday."

She let out a disbelieving laugh before she slammed her hand down, "I refuse to let them make a fool out of me."

"Granger, are you quite alright? You have this crazed look about you."

Hermione pushed her hair out of her face before she stood up and walked towards him, "I'm delightful. Now, shall we go see your private collection?"

He regarded her warily before he took hold of her arm and apparated them.

-*-

Hours later, Hermione quietly sipped her wine as she stared at the Constable in front of her, absolutely entranced with the way the clouds moved across the countryside. "It's so peaceful and idyllic."

"That one is a favorite," Draco commented as he sat in his chair, watching as she moved from painting to painting. "It almost makes me detest the bustle of city-life."

"I suppose that was the purpose," Hermione murmured quietly before she looked back at him thoughtfully, "Do you think we should put one or two works by Constable and Reynolds in the show? Simply for context and precedence?"

"I don't really see the relevance. Turner and Constable might've been contemporaries but their styles aren't similar whatsoever. If anything, we should consider putting in some Dutch landscapes to show influence."

"That may be true but Constable was such a powerhouse of English painting and they're both considered English Romantic painters. We can't do a show on Turner without some sort of mention of Constable. Also, Turner was admitted into the Academy while Reynolds was still president. His work may look nothing like his but I'm hardly convinced that both of them didn't have some sort of influence upon his work."

Draco stood up and moved to the far corner of his study, "We'll put this in the show." The portrait was fairly large. The man looked out at both he and Hermione, his gaze unwavering. He sat with his body in profile but his head was turned so that his eyes were unavoidable. His face looked serious, almost pensive. He wore a dark blue silk shirt that hung loose against him. In his hands, he held what looked to be a piece of worn parchment.

"Is that—"

"Yes."

"Wow," Hermione breathed as she approached the painting with small steps, uncertainly and cautiously. She stared, completely enamored, as she watched the man's grip on the parchment tighten, his gaze bordering suspicious as Hermione approached. She smiled softly at him and he visibly relaxed before he turned his head, looking off into the distance.

"What do you think?"

Hermione shivered and her eyes involuntarily fluttered shut when she felt his hot breath against her neck. His scent surrounded her senses and she fought the urge to collapse into his arms. Her voice was hazy and thick when she finally answered him, "It's perfect." Vaguely, Hermione heard him mumble something in return. She felt him turning her body around, his hands firm against her waist.

She should tell him to back away. Better yet, she should back away herself and step out of his grasp yet she could not move. She couldn't think. All she could do was continue to stare into his darkening grey eyes as his lips moved closer and closer to hers. Her mind remained oddly quiet and the entire world seemed to fade away and disappear. Her whole being felt as if it was being pulled into his and when his lips finally, ever so gently, touched hers, she could no longer discern her body from his.

-*-

**Author's Note: **Hello my darlings! I am so incredibly sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I have been so caught up with real life and work and had to take a brief hiatus from writing but I promise I'm back and I hope this was worth the wait.

The title of the chapter translates to _With Craziness_ or _With Madness_. I really hope the part about Constable, Reynolds, and Turner wasn't too confusing. John Constable, Joshua Reynolds, and JMW Turner were all famous English painters. Joshua Reynolds painted before Turner and Constable. He was president of the Royal Academy and was chair of the panel that admitted Turner into the Academy. Turner was admitted at the incredibly young age of 14 whereas Constable was admitted at the age of 52. Reynolds worked primarily through portraiture whereas Turner and Constable were both landscape artists. Their styles are incredibly different, however.

The painting that they were looking at in the end is a self-portrait of Joshua Reynolds. While a wizarding version does not exist (or maybe it does! Who knows?), I based the description on a self-portrait of Reynolds that hangs at the Uffizi.


End file.
